Psyche
by At A Venture
Summary: In dreams, we find our greatest desires, but sometimes they can be our undoing. Set in Season 4, Buffy spends more of her time in her dreams than in her life, despite the concerns of the Scoobies.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is based in Season 4 of BTVS, quite early on in the season. It is vaguely based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche. _

_Chapter 1_

* * *

The door whined on its hinges as Buffy turned the knob and slid into the room, moving against the wall. A beam of glowing fluorescent light streaked across the floor, bouncing up the fall wall and casting a hazy shadow on her slumbering redheaded roommate. On the small bedside table between their twin extra-long frames, an ancient hand-me-down alarm clock blinked 2:37 in neon green. The Slayer released a small swear under her breath and pushed the creaking door shut, throwing the room into blackness. Willow whined and turned toward the wall, tucking a pillow between her arms as though it were a stuffed toy or a certain werewolf.

"Really need to start wearing a watch," Buffy whispered to herself as she shuffled across the floor, shedding her sweats as she went. Alongside the bed, she squirmed out of the pair of long fleece pants she'd worn against the cool autumn night, tossing them against the wall. They fell with a light swish, in a heap, under the window. Clad in a make-do pajama ensemble of worn-out briefs and an old tank top, Buffy pushed back the covers and crawled beneath the sheets. "Stupid patrol, stupid vampires…"

On nights like these, after a four hour patrol and a night of psychology homework, sleep was a valuable commodity, one that Buffy could rarely scrounge up the means to afford. She tossed, frustrated, onto her right side, waiting for her eyelids to become heavy, for her limbs to sag against the cheap mattress, but after several minutes of impatience, she turned back over, grumbling. Five feet away, Willow mewed contentedly in Slumber land, snuggling against her Oz pillow, likely dreaming of some night they'd spent together, curled up in each other's arms.

"I don't miss him," Buffy scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and staring blankly at the ceiling. "I'm better off and so is he. It never would have…"

"Buffy," his voice echoed in her ear, a whisper that vibrated against the small gold hoops she'd left in her lobes. "I've missed you."

"Angel?" Buffy hissed in the darkness, stretching out her arm, sweeping it across herself to seek him out. Her fingers brushed delicately against foreign flesh, cool and endlessly soft. The arm reached further, extending a cautious hand out along his shoulder, tracing the curve of his scapula, the frame of muscle that surrounded the bone, and the empty veins that pushed up through his dermis, stretching like jasmine toward the moon.

"I've missed you, Buffy. I should never have left you."

Fingertips, as smooth and cold as a grave stone, danced down the edge of her throat, tickling the skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh, ripples in a disturbed pool. His mouth struck out over her cheek, leaving small kisses, dragging hot blood up beneath the thin layers of skin. Her lips tasted like sweat, like a bitter pun, like the blood of a contemptuous virgin, spat against his tongue. Her tender body squirmed beneath his hands, anxious to appeal to his touch, struggling fish against the tide. There was no time to think of the curse, the reason they shouldn't copulate here in the dark empty night. He moved into her as though coming home after a lifetime away, so simply belonging to that place within. A whispered moan rang out, so loud in its silence that it choked sound from the entire room, drowning out the sleeping witch an arm's length away. A whimper, a ragged breath, Buffy inhaled a shallow gulp of air and pressed her mouth firmly against his, expelling the oxygen with life-giving force. Arms encased one another, wrapping tightly, as though one might escape the other before the climax. His name played on her lips like a song, repeating the same notes over and over again.

"Angel," she whispered, breathless, her fingers intertwining through his hair. The soft brunette chaos tickled the webbing between her thumb and forefinger.

"Buffy! Hey, Buffy, wake up! You're gonna miss class!" Willow grumbled from across the room, picking up a small stuffed animal to throw at her dozing roommate.

"Wha…?" Buffy mumbled, opening her eyes to the dazzling light spreading through the dorm room from between rickety venetian blinds.

"It's ten o'clock already. You're late for literature and I don't want to miss biology. We're doing this cell division experiment and I…"

"I'm up, I'm up…I swear." Buffy grumbled, stretching her arms out ahead of her, brain already swimming with the idea of classes and schedules and homework.

"Fine, fine. I'll see you at lunch? It's cookie day!" Willow squeaked happily as she shut the bedroom door behind her, scattering a few pages of unfinished literature notes across the floor.

Sighing, Buffy gazed for a moment at the sheets that had contorted around her legs. Even now, she could feel his fingers sliding over her shoulders, tickling the small blond hairs on the back of her neck. Her shoulders sagged as she slid out of bed, pressing the soles of her feet into a pair of thong sandals. Wednesdays were the worst-a cruel joke that the end of the week was seemingly on its way, but still two days left of weary classes and boring busy work. Still, even with the thought of class riding on her back, she dressed with a smile easing its way across her lips. The dream lingered, replaying the touch of his hands on her skin, the tenderness of his voice echoing in her ears. The door fell quietly, pleasantly shut behind her, and the books lay forgotten, ignored.

"It was so real," Buffy grinned, relaying the scene to Willow as they walked casually down the echoing halls of UC Sunnydale's science building. "It was like he was really there, Will."

"Well, it certainly put you in a good mood despite the chemistry quiz!" Willow replied, hugging her books to her chest, a look of confusion filling her eyes.

"You know, I don't even care about the quiz. It's no big-I'll totally do fine."

"Buffy!" Riley's voice drifted down the hall from a few feet ahead, bouncing over the heads of their fellow student body. Buffy bounced out of the crowd and stood in front of him, almost beaming. Willow pulled up alongside her.

"Hi Riley,"

"Hi Willow. Hey, Buffy, I just finished grading your exam. It was…well…"

"You could tell her she failed mightily and she'd probably still grin at you."

"Super Buffy happiness, it's rare."

"But mighty!"

"Anyway, don't tell me what I got, Riley. I don't want anything to get me down."

"Well I was just thinking, maybe I could…I mean, well…" Riley fell silent, trying to sort out a plethora of ways to ask her on a simple study date. His tongue seemed to tie into a hundred small knots. "That is…um…"

"Sorry, Riley. We really have to go. It's cookie day, and I'm so on board for cookies."

"You blew him off, Buffy. I thought you liked Riley…" Willow bent her mouth into a confused scowl, raising her eyebrows.

"When did I say that I liked him? He's a bit weird, don't you think? Ooo, I see cookies!"

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Sliding an armful of tired science books onto her bed, Buffy reached for the hoodie she'd draped over her bedpost, and threw it on over her tee shirt. Between the closed venetian blinds over her window, she watched the sun fade beyond the sycamores that lined the campus sidewalks. Another night of patrol, guarding Sunnydale from the dark and scary, lay behind those treetops, in the creepy alleys of a small town on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Behind her, the bedroom door fell shut with a sharp bang. 

"How was your study group?" Buffy asked vaguely, throwing a few stakes into a small shoulder bag.

"Terrible. No one actually did any of the work. Maybe I should just keep studying by myself. I feel like I'm back in high school, doing everyone else's work for them!" Willow grumbled, falling onto her mattress. "Going out patrolling?"

"Yeah, duty calls."

The night was quiet, almost freakishly so. Those laid to rest remained resting, the ground undisturbed, a fresh layer of frosty dew coating the manicured grass that lined the Sunnydale cemetery. Buffy perched on the corner of a tombstone jutting precariously from the cool ground, watching the evening settle into night. Behind her, far in the distance, the icy grass crackled, the shuffling of feet barely noticeable. She pounced down from the stone, smacking the ground with her toes and taking off for the noise, pressing a withdrawn stake at the chest of her attacker.

"Buffy," Giles' voice trembled, his hand rising to settle his glasses upon the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, sorry Giles," Buffy frowned, dropping her defensive fist and returning the weapon to her bag. "Figured you were a big bad, might get some action instead of just catching a cold."

"Regretfully, no. I was looking to discuss some demonic activity…if you're up for it."

"Got nothing else to do," Buffy shrugged, following Giles as he propped open a dusty book between his hands and walked further into the graveyard. "What's goin' on? Apocalypse?"

"Oh no, nothing that serious I shouldn't think. I've consulted the almanacs, and discovered that the next new moon will bring with it a possible prophecy. It is said that a demon will appear to rid the world of a champion."

"And it isn't serious?"

"It is serious Buffy, quite serious. But it certainly isn't the end of the world. Just, be on the look out for anything out of the ordinary. How have you been sleeping?"

"Oh…great, just great," Buffy smiled, thankful for the darkness to hide her blushing cheeks.

"No dreams out of the ordinary? Nothing…prophetic?"

"Nope, nothing unusual!"

"Good, well, keep me updated. Go home early, Buffy. You look tired."

The scent of night-blooming jasmine sweetened the path to the mansion, hollow and still with its master away. Her fingers tripped over the velvet curtain that hung loose over the doorway, then pushed it delicately aside, dipping her head as she entered. The candles were out, their wicks cold and blackened with year-old ash. Still, she could sense him here, hiding in the stony shadows, waiting, the lover and the predator. Buffy knelt momentarily on the cushions of the sofa, pressing her hand into the fabric, how cool it was without her own flesh to keep it warm and cozy. Despite its shiver-inducing lack of life, the old furniture remained infinitely comfortable. Velvety and smooth, she slid down between the cushions, closing her eyes.

His hands slid over her shoulders, digging softly but firmly into her strained flesh, massaging away the aches and pains of night after night of battle. His lips pressed delicately against the back of her skull, nudging away her thick blond ponytail, nuzzling her scalp with his nose and chin. Soft murmurs of nothingness tripped over her lips as Buffy swayed backward into his hands, her eyes half closed, squinting up into his chiseled face.

"Angel," she whispered, half dazed, half awake. "You're home."

"I could never leave you, Buffy. I'll always be with you."

"We can't, we just…"

"We've already proved the prophecies wrong, Buffy. Last night…"

"I was dreaming…"

"You weren't dreaming, Buffy. It was real. It's all real."

The stone floor was cold and hard against her back, though the friction between them sent veins of warmth up through her torso, lighting her entire body aflame. His weight pinned her suddenly fragile body to the floor, his hands roaming along her skin. Their hips moved together, a union of two souls bound into one body. Soft, high-pitched moans escaped from her throat, echoing through the empty mansion, bouncing from the walls and refilling her throat, only to be released again. His mouth, lingering only inches above hers, panting despite his lack of breath, bent down at last to kiss her, to steal the sound from her lungs and swallow it whole. His face contorted, from angelic and beautiful to demonic, angry, possessed by passion, and still he could not look more vulnerable and handsome. Her tongue slid between his fangs, searching for the soul pinned beneath that fearsome vampiric face.

Buffy opened her eyes with a small groan, peeling the comforter away from her sweating torso. The room was unbearably hot, though pangs of cold snuck up the souls of her feet as she slid onto the floor. The bedroom was empty, but surprisingly bright. The cool sunlight that flickered between the window blinds seemed to penetrate deeper than should be possible. Buffy padded slowly to the door, pulled it open, and snuck down the hall to the dormitory bathroom. Students walked briskly back and forth, some of them stopping to stare at her, still in her fluffy pink pajamas. Briefly, she peered at a clock face embedded into the wall above the fire extinguisher. Pressing her hand against the bathroom door, it took her a moment to decipher the meaning of the roman numerals and the hands of the clock. At last, her brain seemed to click on. It was half past one in the afternoon. She'd slept through half the day and through her psychology mid-term as well.

The fluorescent lights in the ladies' bathroom were almost blinding, and Buffy spent several minutes in a darkened stall trying to adjust. Pain bled into her temples, her nose, and her mouth, leaving a cotton-ball sensation on her tongue. Minutes ticked by, waiting for a raging headache to settle down. A voice echoed, deep within her brain. _You weren't dreaming, Buffy. It's all real._ A smile licked across her lips, sending her out of the stall and up in front of the mirror above the sink. Her fiery green eyes were swollen, puffy, and an odd, unnatural purple hue. Her hair and face sagged, more like that of an old woman than of a young and virile vampire slayer. Behind her, the door banged shut on its hinges, and in the reflective glass stood Willow, concern painted across her sweet face. Buffy watched her in the mirror, a queer smile brightening her sallow eyes and wrinkling her aging skin.

"Buffy, are you okay? You look sick."

"Are you kidding? I'm great!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

"I'm just worried about her, that's all," Willow sighed, staring out at the dimly lit dance floor of the Bronze. "You haven't seen her, Xander. She looks like…"

"Like kittens." Xander interjected, adjusting himself on the stool.

"Like…no…what?"

"Hi Buffy, how're…you?" Xander coughed, addressing the pleasantly smiling Slayer as she down beside Willow, placing a glass down on the table.

"What's like kittens?" Buffy asked, raising her eyebrows slightly, briefly smoothing out the blue bruises beneath her sagging, wrinkled, puffy green eyes.

"Um, kittens are…like…um," Willow stammered, giving Xander the evil eye. She turned back to Buffy, plastered a smile across her mouth, and attempted to look innocent. "Kittens are like kittens, of course.

"Right. So, what's goin' on Buff? You look a bit…erm…tired."

"Actually, I've been getting the best sleep of my life. For once, there are no freaky bad dreams about the oncoming apocalypse."

"Well that's, um, great. Seriously, though, Buffy; you look like you haven't seen more than hour's rest in a month. Maybe you're coming down with the flu, or something."

"Well, um, I have to go." Willow stuttered, wrenching herself from her seat.

"Go? But, Will, I just got here."

"I know, Buffy. But I have…um…homework. I'll see you later. Xander, I…"

"It's cool Will, we'll see you later."

Willow scampered at top speed out of the Bronze, rushing down the alley in the oncoming darkness. Nights like these, she wished she had some kind of wheeled transportation, even if it was only her mother's run-down Station Wagon. Chill air rushed over her shoulders, forcing her to hurry faster down the sidewalk. The shop windows were dark, small "Closed" signs hanging in doorways. Sunnydale had a creepiness to it, an ominous sense that prickled the back of the neck. _Duh, you're living on a hellmouth!_ Willow thought to herself as she tossed herself down the steps and in front of Giles' door. The knock was deafening.

"Willow? It's late, what's wrong?" Giles blinked, setting his glasses upon the bridge of his nose.

"It's Buffy," Willow breathed over a cup of tea. "There's something…you should see her, Giles."

"She looks a little tired, but she's under a lot of stress, with school, the commandos…"

"Giles, it's more than that. It's like she's possessed. She isn't sleeping well, but she sleeps all night, and even through classes. It looks like she's coming down with the flu, but she isn't sick at all. I did some reading, as much as I could at the library at school, but all I could find was this demon called an incubus."

"Yes, an incubus is a demon that sucks the energy out of a sleeping woman through means of intercourse. The creature is also said to use the sleeper as a host for offspring. But incubi aren't documented by the Watcher's Council. It's only a myth, told by religious zealots to comprehend children born out of wedlock, or women in comas, or a series of bad dreams."

"Oh." Willow frowned, taking another sip of tea.

"However, there is a tale of…hmmm…" Giles stalked to the wall of bookshelves, extracting a few volumes and stacking them on the coffee table. Willow reached for one of the books, dragging it onto her lap.

"Giles, this is a mythology book."

"Mythology is more than just legend, Willow. The stories were used to explain supernatural and natural occurrences. After all, the Greeks knew very little about demons and witchcraft. They were philosophers, people of reason and logic. The supernatural is very rarely logical."

"Well, that's true. But still, Giles…do you really think that this will do the trick?"

"Back at school, I recall seeing a recreation of Eros and Psyche by Alexander Cordova. The original is inside the Louvre, in Paris, but there are replicas all over the world. Eros and Psyche appears, to the normal observer, a story of romance, but it is more sinister than that. Essentially, the story goes that Eros is commanded by Aphrodite to shoot Psyche with his bow and arrow and thus curse her to never find love. Unfortunately, Eros falls in love with the beautiful Psyche himself. The West Wind carries Psyche to a beautiful palace, where she's attended all day by invisible servants, and at night, in the darkness, she and Eros consummate the marriage, though Eros remains anonymous. Each day is the same, so that Eros visits Psyche and they have intercourse. But one night, thanks to her jealous sisters, Psyche lights a lamp to reveal the form of her husband, and accidently awakens him by dropping hot oil on his body. The story continues, and Psyche and Eros are eventually married."

"I'm confused about the supernatural part."

"Eros and Psyche are not a couple in love, Willow, but an explanation of a woman's descent into sleeping sickness." Giles frowned, opening a large dusty book and placing it on his lap. "According to actual recorded accounts, Psyche was the most beautiful woman in her region, desired by all men and envied by all women. Even temple leaders desired her, to make her a sacrifice to their gods. Two powerful women, by all accounts witches of the most evil variety, cast a curse upon Psyche, that she might never find a husband or lover. To achieve the curse, a demon is called from the depths of Hell to seduce Psyche, and keep her from ever taking an interest in any other person. Each night, the demon, appropriately called an Eros, visits Psyche while she sleeps, giving her lifelike dreams of intercourse with the perfect man she most desires. Each morning, Psyche awakens less beautiful, less desirable. Psyche's sisters, the jealous girls mentioned in the myth, save Psyche before it is too late. They stay with her during the night, and when they hear her dreaming, they light three enchanted candles at points around her bed. A spell is cast, and the demon is banished, defeated by the sisters' magic."

"This Eros demon, you think this is what's visiting Buffy in her dreams?"

"Has she told you about the dreams, Willow? What are they about?"

"…Well, they're about Angel. They're all about Angel."


	4. Chapter 4

Willow blinked, shoving her fist out away from her face, a snaggle of red hair ripping off her sweaty brow. She sat up forcibly, scattering manuscripts and photocopied book pages. Giles' desk loomed before her, carefully imprinted with the curve of her face in a foggy smear upon the wood. Across the room, a small mantle clock quietly chimed, defining the time of day as half past eight. Behind her, a soft clatter of teacups echoed.

"Yes, I fell asleep at the grindstone as well. Would you like some tea?"

"What do we have so far?" Willow stammered, gathering the pages she'd dropped and glancing at Giles' notes on a small yellow steno pad. His scrawl was impossible to read.

"Not much, I'm afraid. But I believe I have found a spell that should assist us in ridding Buffy of the demon. The only problem is, how do we contain the thing, and how do we convince Buffy that she's in danger?"

"Can't we just set up the candles and light them while she's asleep?"

"Won't Buffy be suspicious of the irregular sleep over?"

"She sleeps like a log nowadays. I think it's the Eros demon. It's draining any ability she might have had to wake up at a moment's notice. She can't even wake up after I yell at her and throw sock balls."

"Sock…balls?"

"I was desperate!" Willow frowned sheepishly. "Okay, so first stop, Magic Box."

"I suppose we'd best make a list."

Xander frowned as he flipped through the pages of a thick city directory, landing at last on the four or five pages of Chinese takeout, Mexican takeout, and pizza. He skimmed over the listing, landing at last on a bolded phone number. The keys on the phone whined in a pathetically mediocre way.

"I dunno, Will. It just doesn't feel like pizza night without Buffy complaining about the lack of pepperoni on her slice."

"Xander! Buffy hasn't been eating-what with the dreams and all? She just sleeps all the time! We have to eat, prepare the ingredients, and then get over to the dormitories. I don't want that…that thing messing with Buffy anymore! If we don't hurry, she could be drained completely!"

"Are you sure she's dreaming about Angel? I mean, what if her perfect man is…I dunno…well what if it's…?"

"Ew, Xander! I thought you were over that crush."

"A single man needs prospects, Will. What am I going to stay up all night…um…obsessing about…if not the fine frenzy that is Buffy Summers?"

"What about Anya?"

"I'm…uh…just keeping my options open!"

"Just order the pizza, will you? And no anchovies! I am not kidding this time!"

Willow frowned at the collection of magical ingredients laid out on the coffee table in Xander's basement. Along with three smoky black candles inscribed with runes, there were pinches of sage and mandrake, vials of clove oil and musk, and a jar of sliced cow tongue swimming in formaldehyde. Tapping her fingernails on the coffee table, Willow stared at the spell book, blinking.

"Is that…a tongue?"

"What?"

"A tongue, Will. Yanno, I'll never understand what you see in all this magic mumbo jumbo. It's…ugh. I could almost lose my appetite."

"You could never lose your appetite, Xander."

"Well, I said almost didn't I?" Xander grinned, shoving another piece of pizza into his mouth. "Are we about ready?"

"Yes, I think so. Giles said he'd meet us at the dorms. I just hope we're not too late. I don't think Buffy can't take another night of these dreams."

"Promise you won't leave me again," Buffy murmured, tucking herself further into Angel's strong arms, his bare skin cool against her steaming flesh. Beside her, he smiled, brushing his fingers through her hair, twirling the tender blond locks.

"I won't leave you again, Buffy. I was foolish to go in the first place. We belong together."

"And the curse…it's gone forever?"

"Forever, my love. We're safe as long as we're together."

"It's too good to be true…" Buffy murmured, pressing her lips gently against his cheek, brushing her fingertips over the heavyset ridge of his brow. She traced his temple with the side of her thumb, lightly tickling the pale skin. A smile drifted across his lips, and his eyes lifted to take in the glow that filled her eyes and cheeks. His name trickled from her lips, a quiet whisper on her tongue. His hands slid around her shoulders, pulling her down into the sheets, tossing her mane around her shoulders. She murmured with pleasure as he pressed one knee on either side of her hips, bending his head to place determined kisses upon her lips and neck, nuzzling the steadily blushing skin.

"It'll kill her when we take them away from her, Will," Xander frowned, wrapping his hand around the door knob, looking back over his shoulder.

"It'll kill her if we don't," Giles reminded them, double-checking that the book of matches in his coat pocket was still there.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and she won't remember them…" Willow frowned, only slightly hopeful.

"Come on, there isn't much time left." Giles urged them, pushing Xander and Willow through the darkened entrance. "If we don't rid her of the demon soon, it will suck her dry and kill her."

"I love you," Buffy murmured between kisses, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, her thighs clutching his hips as she shivered beneath him. He had been the only man in her life to weaken her, the only one to show her a strength nearly as formidable as her own. That power, mixed with the love he showered her in, was intoxicating.

"I'll never stop loving you, Buffy. In two-hundred fifty years, you're the only woman I have ever loved."

"Promise?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

It was true that she had nothing to compare his intimacy to, and yet, there could be no man on Earth that could provide more passion, more love, than what existed between them. Inside her, he was a perfect fit, and pleasure throttled through her thighs, sending veins of shivers through her flesh. Her hips rocked against the mattress beneath them. Her lips swelled with fits of vocal pleasure. Her toes curled and she collapsed into fits of passion, throwing back her head to expose her neck to his kisses.

"When I motion to you, light the candles. The demon won't sense our presence until the incantation is spoken and the candles are lit. Willow, hand me that cauldron." Giles frowned, opening the spell book and placing his candle on the bedside table.

"She looks so…well, I don't think peaceful is the right word." Xander whispered, kneeling at the foot of the bed.

"We don't have much time, Giles! She looks so drawn…pale…" Willow whimpered, tossing the small copper bowl to Giles. She placed the third candle on a second bedside table, and dug the ingredients out of her book bag.

"It's the Eros demon. It's sucking her dry."

"Hurry, we have to read the incantation!"

"Get ready to light your wicks. L'eros is eram valde tardus thoughtful procul psyche un a voluntas quis vires inscribo paciscor servus caecus all'attesa a mos tamen quantus est ut vos quondam quondam visum ipsa pars , monstrum avvertente quantus est ut quis does subsisto procul balanus quis quantus est ut vos have dopey per. Is psyche , tametsi utriusque commodo per ipsa maritus , utriusque a Donna utriusque per ut is est venuto a curator quasi insatiate. Light them! Light them now!"

"Angel? What's going on?" Buffy leaned up on her elbows, looking into the smoldering eyes of her beloved vampire lover, his soft brown irises ablaze.

"No! No!" Angel growled, tearing away from the Slayer mid-thrust, his hands lashing against her shoulders. Buffy tore away, yelping in pain as great gashes sliced through her milky white flesh, digging down into the muscle beneath.

"What is it? Angel? Tell me what's wrong!"

"Xander! It's working!" Willow hissed, reaching out to wrap her hands around Buffy's wrist as she writhed upon the wrinkled sheets, thrashing.

"Denique , unus nox noctis Eros dormio ut usitas , tamen Psyche subsisto suscitatio. Cepit oil luminarium quod lit is vultus onto suus visio. Statim is agnosco suus deus quod animadverto quis iens. Is eram repletus quondam iterum per diligo quod contricio quod cultus , denique gnarus quisnam suus maritus eram. Tamen in suus offensus suus manuum palpito quod is nonnullus oil suus diligo." Giles continued, getting to his feet, holding the book out ahead of him. Beneath him, Buffy screamed, pulling at some unseen force, waving her arms, her hands drawn into tight, white-knuckled fists.

"Don't leave me! Please! Don't leave me again!" Buffy wailed, sitting up suddenly, throwing back Willow's hands.

"Buffy!" Xander gasped, watching her bolt upright through the glimmer of candle flames.

"What…what's going on?"

* * *

Buffy stared at the phone, pulling her blankets up around her shoulders. Three days later, the color was still returning to her cheeks, the sunken appearance of her eyes still noticeable in the mirror on the closet door. A cold had settled in on her weakened body, leaving her sniffling and sneezing, sore and tired. The image of the demon's touch lingered in her thoughts, tainting every memory of her time spent with Angel. At last, she picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear, punching in the Los Angeles area code.

"Angel Investigations, we help the…oh, hi."


End file.
